


All of My Heart

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: Christmas doesn’t just have to be on Christmas Day (as I’ve come to learn now that I’m older and have to travel too many places for the holidays). Buffy and Dawn travel to L.A. in January. Set during season five of AtS. Merry Christmas, y’all! (Finished 12-19-17.)Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Disney. I own nothing except this plot.





	All of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Noel of Spike 2017. Extra special thank you to swifthorse for the wonderful beta job and suggestions! And thank you so much to Sue for hosting this Christmas-y Spike event on LJ! *hugs*

_‘Cause Christmas is all in the heart_  
That’s where the feeling starts  
And like a fire inside, it touches every part  
Christmas is all in the heart 

_And even if no white snow falls_  
Well, that’s all right because  
The joy can still be found, wherever you are  
Christmas is all, all in the heart 

_-Steven Curtis Chapman_

 

* * *

 

“We didn’t do anything at all for Christmas, and now it’s my birthday, and we’re going.” Buffy crossed her arms and gave Dawn her patented big sister stare. “Get packing.”

 

Dawn sighed and slumped her shoulders, pouting in a way she hadn’t in a very long time. “Dad doesn’t want to see us. You know this. I know this.”

 

“We’re not going to see Dad.” Buffy pulled the roller bag set between them and flipped it around so that the back faced her sister. Their father had settled down again in LA with his new wife, but Buffy had no desire to see him or to pretend to like his wife.

 

Dawn reluctantly put a hand on the bag, shoved down the handle with a bit of dramatic flare, and tugged it onto the small bed she shared with Buffy. “We’re not? Why are we going back to Cali? It’s far. Far from Rome. And we just got back from Australia. I just want to sleep the rest of my Christmas break that wasn’t.”

 

The Slayer they’d uncovered in Australia had hardly been cooperative, and she’d organized a group of other, more naïve Slayers under her command. Reining her in had taken more days and nights than anticipated. Buffy knew Dawn was exhausted. Heck, they were all exhausted.

 

Buffy didn’t want to tell Dawn what she’d heard because she didn’t want to get her sister’s hopes up. Well, to be honest, Buffy wasn’t sure how her sister would feel about the news. “Just do it. For me?” Her sister peered at her from underneath the arm covering her eyes, and Buffy batted her eyelashes at her.

 

“Ugh.” Dawn sat up abruptly and unzipped the bag. “Fine. Buffy and her special birthdays.”

 

“Hey! We make yours special every year.”

 

Dawn raised both eyebrows at her sister. “It’s just that yours are so dramatic.”

 

“Kind of like how you’re being right now?” Buffy teased.

 

Dawn grinned. “Yeah.”

 

“Willow’s coming with, too. She wanted to do something for Tara.”

 

“Oh cool. And sad.”

 

“Not sad. It’s just something she does every year to mark the time of year they got together. She said she used to do it with Tara but now she does it without her. I didn’t want to pry.” Buffy was all with the respecting-the-space of others, but she was glad Willow was coming. Buffy was more than a little nervous about her own plans, and if they didn’t go as she expected, she would be grateful that Willow and Dawn would be there. Buffy’s heart thumped anxiously at the thought.

 

Buffy nudged the suitcase to distract from her own feelings. “Pack. We leave this evening. It’ll do us good to be in the States for a bit. We’ll celebrate Christmas even if it is after everyone else. We might need to go on a shopping spree.”

 

“Fine,” Dawn grumped, but the grump was a half-hearted one. “You had me at shopping.”

 

* * *

 

Buffy took a deep breath, inhaling the cold evening air as she stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel where she had splurged on a nicer suite. She and Dawn were celebrating Christmas, albeit almost a month late and on her birthday to top it off, so Buffy had insisted.

 

Willow was long gone to Sunnydale to camp out at the crater for a few days to do the special ritual for Tara. Dawn was fast asleep in the king-sized bed, the Christmas tree lights casting a colorful glow all around the room. Buffy had “borrowed” her father’s eight-foot, pre-lit Christmas tree while he and his wife were at work. It helped that he still hid the spare key to his house in the same place he always hid it: beneath the statue of a concrete turtle that Joyce had bought him long ago.

 

Next on the agenda, finding the vampire that Fred, Angel’s colleague, had told her was alive and apparently newly corporeal.

 

Buffy hadn’t really let herself think about Spike too much since the scientist had called, but now that she was alone on the streets of L.A., he filled her mind.

 

Why hadn’t Spike contacted her when he apparently burst out of the medallion that had somehow shown up at that evil law firm that Angel was running? Was he upset with her? He hadn’t believed that she loved him at the end. For days after, she ran over and over his final words in her mind until they were burned into her brain and heart the way the fire had scarred her hand.

 

Between all the practicalities that had to be taken care of after Sunnydale imploded, she came up with more than one theory about possible alternate meanings to Spike’s words. Her heart refused to believe that his words were straight forward, which her brain recognized was the grief talking, but her heart was insistent. Her first main theory was that he was just trying to get her to leave – to get back to the surface of the city and on the bus out of dodge before everything collapsed.

 

Her second theory was that Spike had gotten so used to her telling him that she could never love him and that he was beneath her that the few times she’d told him she believed in him and had demonstrated that she cared were too little too late.

 

Her third theory was that he saw through her like he always had and believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that she didn’t love him the same way he loved her. The speech he’d given her in the abandoned house, after Dawn and her friends had kicked her out of her own house, had told him how much he loved her. His heart was in a different place than it’d ever been before. He didn’t expect anything from her, and that felt. . . that felt, realer than anything she’d ever experienced outside of her mother and Dawn. But was she ready to love him in the same way that he loved her? Somewhere in the middle of the night before that final battle, when she was wrapped in his arms, she thought so. What made her angry about this theory was that he was making a huge assumption about how she really felt and that she should have told him sooner so they had time to discuss it. But there had been no time for discussion before the end.

 

And now Spike was back.

 

According to Fred, he’d been back for weeks but some sort of ghost that couldn’t leave L.A., and when he got his body back, so to speak, he hadn’t tried to find her. Instead, she’d received a phone call from Fred who said she was stepping outside her usual bounds, but she felt it was right. She’d tolerated Buffy’s million questions about what, where, when, and how Spike came back and how he was. Buffy knew that Spike had almost been sucked into Hell and that he’d been a pest to Angel. No surprise there. The part that did surprise her was that he almost slept with Harmony, but some sort of crazy spell stopped them, and that he fought Angel for some Cup of Eternal Torment or something. That wasn’t Spike’s style at all.

 

The insecure voice in the back of Buffy’s head told her that he could jump to Harmony so quickly because he didn’t love her the way she hoped anymore. Fred had convinced her that all he talked about in the beginning was her. Something must have changed his mind because he hadn’t reached out when he was able.

 

“Screw it.” She pivoted and started walking back toward the hotel. What was she thinking, coming to L.A. to chase after a guy? She hadn’t let herself chase after Angel when he left. Why would she do that with Spike?

 

Buffy hadn’t realized she’d said the words out loud until the couple passing her gave her a funny look. Great, people probably thought she was crazy. Her heart was pounding, and she was walking fast. She felt a bit crazy.

 

Forcing herself to stop, she leaned against the wall of some random office building, the bricks rough against her back. Then, she pulled up her phone. Angel had had Fred put a tracking device on Spike, and they’d been able to keep up with him for a few days until the signal went kaput. Buffy suspected that Spike figured out that his whereabouts were being traced. So, Buffy didn’t technically know where to find Spike, but she had a place to start because there were five places that he tended to haunt in those few days. Two demon bars, a strip club, a regular human-type bar, and a butcher. She wondered where he slept and decided that she didn’t want to think too much about that.

 

Buffy sighed. She’d dragged Dawn all the way out here; if she didn’t at least look for Spike, she’d always wonder, “What if?” With renewed determination in her heart, she set off to look for her erstwhile vampire.

 

* * *

 

The demon bars, the butcher, and the strip club were all a bust. That left the one bar that humans frequented – the one Buffy was standing across the street from right now. She had little hope that Spike would go to the inviting little hole-in-the-wall bar with the big picture window taking up the whole space and bright warm glowing lights beckoning patrons inside. The place even had a cute-sy name: The Crescent Moon. There was a jaunty moon with a smiling face crookedly swaying in the window.

 

The night had gotten colder, and Buffy shoved her hands in her leather jacket pockets, wishing she had a scarf for her neck. Her stake was neatly stowed away in her cross-body bag; odds were she wouldn’t need one in this type of bar. Taking a deep breath for courage, she crossed the empty street, flouting the crosswalk, to get there faster. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could go back to the hotel and sleep like she hoped her sister was still sleeping.

 

When she got to the wooden door, she put her hand on the doorknob and immediately felt tingles on the back of her neck. She dismissed them though because a breeze had blown through at the same time. A chill flew down her neck and over the curve of her arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

 

The door gave more easily than Buffy expected, and she stumbled a bit on her entrance, her foot connecting with the slightly raised step up into the warm space. A young man at the table on her right held out a steadying hand and gave her a close-lipped smile.

 

She nodded in thanks and then skimmed over the crowd. There were several faceless patrons wedged into the shadows of what turned out to be a slightly bigger room than Buffy was expecting. As the door swung closed behind her, the same tingles came over her again, only stronger, and she went on hyper-alert. Her Slayer senses automatically slipping into place and eliminating humans as she scanned the area more carefully.

 

When she turned to face the bar behind her, she realized that she didn’t have to look far. Familiar leather-clad shoulders filled her vision, his shock of hair still the same. She longed to wrap her arms around him, but she held back. Surely, his own sensors were broadcasting shiny neon “Slayer” signs at him, but he remained unmoving. Did that mean he didn’t want to see her? She considered that he could very well be waiting for her to take a hint and go away.

 

Anger that was unfettered from any logical thought flared then, and she found that this fueled her feet despite her heart’s insistence that she should do what he so obviously wanted her to do. Before she knew it, she was sliding onto the bar stool on his right, her entire being humming with the desire to touch him.

 

But she didn’t. She didn’t even let herself glance his way, not even with her peripheral vision. She’d never been more terrified. Stupid anger. And fuck. Now she didn’t know what to say.

 

The silence went on for what felt like forever.

 

The bartender broke the ice, sliding a cocktail napkin her way. He was young but not that young. Probably in his 30s. He had a dimple in his cheek and curly dark hair. The dimple made Buffy think he must not have a care in the world. She’d give anything to see Spike’s dimple again – the one that always appeared when he genuinely smiled, which had not been often enough. “What would you like?”

 

Willing her voice to be steady, she said, “Rum and diet Coke, please.”

 

“You going to open a tab?”

 

“No. I’ll pay now.” She reached for her purse.

 

Spike interrupted her. “I got the lady.” His voice quavered almost imperceptibly on the last word, and Buffy knew in that moment that he was as freaked out as she was.

 

The bartender nodded and went to work making her drink.

 

She was still too nervous to look at Spike, so she watched the man in front of her, the fingers of her left hand unconsciously fidgeting with the edge of the napkin. Tears filled her eyes out of nowhere. Stupid tears. Why now?

 

Spike covered her hand with his cooler one, and Buffy swore she felt him tremble at the contact with her. Contact she never thought she’d feel again. The tears fell over the lower lashes of one eye, and she bravely tried to suck the other side back in to no avail. Everything remained blurry.

 

Spike spoke softly. “I thought you were a bloody hallucination for a second there, pet. Even though my senses told me otherwise.”

 

Buffy sneaked a peek at Spike. He was staring at their hands together as if he was deep in thought, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. Just when she almost pulled her hand away, he shifted a fraction, and she caught the sheen of his tears in the dim light. So, instead of disconnecting, she turned her hand palm up, so she could lace her fingers with his larger ones. The last time she touched him like this, he was catching on fire. Her memories took her back to that moment – the fear in her heart, the joy on his face at feeling his soul, and the love in his eyes for her. Panic filled her, but she blinked and the world righted itself again. The noise of the bar swept into her ears, and there was no flame, no collapsing cavern.

 

She’d never been so grateful for something in her life, but she was jumping the gun. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t clasp her hand with his either.

 

“I thought you were, too,” she finally managed.

 

“How’d you find me?” he asked and almost immediately said, “Fred.” He frowned. “Sodding tracker. Was the size of the end of a Q-tip. Heard it buzzing like a gnat.”

 

Buffy didn’t let him divert her, but she wasn’t ready to go for the hard questions yet. “What’re you doing here? In this little bar. . . for humans. I mean, it’s hopping for a Sunday, but the cozy human part? It’s not exactly your cup of tea.”

 

He emitted a low snort of amusement. “Well, you got that wrong, now don’t you?” He was referring to how he spent so much time in the company of humans. . . in the company of her. His brow almost imperceptibly furrowed, he studied their joined hands for what felt like an eternity to Buffy. Then, he said, “The truth? It’s your birthday.”

 

“My birthday’s tomorrow,” she joked, covering for her heart, which was picking up speed. He remembered her birthday? Of course, he did.

 

“Hate to break it to you, pet, but it’s the witching hour.” He inclined his head toward the clock on the wall, which read ten after twelve.

 

“Oh. Yeah.”

 

The bartender set Buffy’s drink in front of her. “Enjoy.”

 

“Thanks.” Buffy ignored the drink and focused on Spike. “Why are you here on my birthday in this bar?”

 

He lifted his beer bottle with one hand and clinked it against her cocktail. “To raise a glass to you wherever you were in the world. Only you turned up. Wasn’t expecting that. It’s why I thought I might be seeing things. Plus, this is the only place that always has this little gem.” 

 

“Old Peculier: the Legend? Peculiar? How is that good?”

 

Spike looked momentarily affronted. “I’ll have you know it’s excellent. And it’s a reference to a place, not the taste.”

 

Buffy grinned. “Sounds old and moldy.”

 

“It’s legendary,” he said with sarcasm and offered the bottle. “Try it.”

 

Buffy made a huge face of disgust, momentarily feeling like herself. “Ewww. ‘No’ is not a strong enough word.”

 

Spike chuckled and took a swig, holding the bottle high until he emptied it. “Was about to head out anyway.”

 

Buffy’s heart sank. “Oh.”

 

Spike studied her face in that disconcerting way of his. “Hey now. I just meant that you almost missed me. Came here to toast the anniversary of your birth, and then I was off to – ”

 

Anger raised its proud head, and she jerked her hand away this time. “Off to what? What are you doing in L.A. in the middle of the night?” An insane part of her brain wondered if he was staying with Harmony, and she was jealous. So jealous that she was pissed at herself, too.

 

Spike’s emotions flitted across his face, but Buffy only saw his own fit of temper. He hissed softly at her, “You know very well what I’m doing here. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be off gallivanting around the world, living your life and being free?”

 

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

 

“You bloody well know what I mean! I wanted that for you! And keep your voice down. This is an establishment I’d prefer to be able to frequent.”

 

Dizzy with her own rolling feelings, Buffy saw that people were staring and murmuring. Well, fine. She didn’t want to be there anyway. He could keep his lame-ass, moldy beer joint. The moon was stupid anyway. She hopped off the stool, held her head high, and marched out of the bar.

 

Out in the cold night air, she almost ran but didn’t because she couldn’t with the weight of the pain in her heart. Instead, she hurried to the end of the street and took a left, swinging down a narrow alley and sinking to the ground as sobs wracked her body. What was she thinking? God. She was so stupid for thinking he’d want to see her or that he still cared.

 

She heard footsteps striding quickly and tried to hold her breath but knew that he’d find her anyway. Stupid vampire senses.

 

Spike stood over her, watching for only a second before he was on the ground with her even in the filthy alley.

 

He ran the back of his fingers over her upper arm. “Is this okay, pet?” His voice was tender and compassionate.

 

Buffy felt annoyance flicker through her. “I don’t want pity.”

 

“Don’t pity you. Just really want to hold you right now. If you’ll let me.”

 

Buffy heard the hint of fear in his voice, and she couldn’t help herself. She eased herself onto his lap and settled back against his chest, feeling nothing but relief that somehow the universe deemed that he’d be returned and solid beneath her. She almost sobbed again, but she held her breath to prevent it.

 

Spike sighed, snagging her fingers and drawing his arms around her so that they were cocooned together. Buffy felt her body relaxing, betraying her resolve to stay strong and apart from him. She closed her eyes and just let herself be for the first time in months as he nuzzled her ear. She couldn’t deny that she still loved him even if she wanted to.

 

“Why didn’t you try to find me?” Her voice was small in the darkness.

 

He was quiet again – the way he had been in the bar, and her muscles tensed, ready to run if needed. But that was her instinct and not what she wanted to do, so when he massaged her fingers gently, she further let go of her self-protection.

 

A few seconds later, he started and almost immediately trailed off, “I went out a h. . .” Buffy felt him shiver, and then, he said, “It’s complicated, I suppose.”

 

“Un-complicate it.” She assuaged the hardness of her words with, “Please, Spike.”

 

“I dunno if I can.” He took a deep breath and released it with deliberation, holding her closer. “I had a lot of doubts about what I was doing back in the first place. Made a big show of pestering Angel as a ghostie, but I admit that almost being pulled into Hell, a place I always thought I’d be headed when I found myself on the shore of the River Styx. That shook me more than I let myself acknowledge, especially to the AI crew. It made me think it’s what I deserved. And then, when that box showed up, and suddenly, I was corporeal again while all of the sodding law firm went on the fritz. . . technology, humans, demons. All rendered equivalent. And with the prophecy about the ‘Cup of Eternal Torture and Horror’. . .” Spike trailed off. Buffy knew all this from Fred. Before she could speak, Spike continued, “To be honest, all of that other bullshit isn’t what stopped me from finding you.”

 

Buffy soldiered on, her heart hammering double time in her chest. “What did?” 

 

“I was scared that you wouldn’t look at me the same.”

 

“That’s bullshit, too.” This time, she eased the backs of her hands against his palms and slid her fingers between his. He squeezed back this time.

 

“Buffy.”

 

“You slept with Harmony,” she blurted, her own fear pushing forth the words.

 

“Oh, pet. It didn’t mean anything.” Buffy noticed that he didn’t bring up the kiss she gave Angel. He was continuing on a different vein completely. “Thought I’d never be solid again. Thought I’d lost you for good.” A heartbeat. “Still do.”

 

And there it was. The truth. “You didn’t lose me. I came to find you.” She sat up and faced him in the dark, his face swathed in shadow. “C’mon.” She disentangled herself and stood, offering him a hand up. He took the unneeded assistance and was up beside her in a moment. She didn’t let go of his hand.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“It’s my birthday, and in my family, birthdays are for getting to do whatever we want, so we’re leaving this dank, stinky alley and heading somewhere with a little more light and maybe central heating.”

 

“Bossy bint.”

 

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” she teased, walking backward and tugging him along.

 

“That’s bad. Very bad, love.”

 

She grinned at him. “What can I tell you? I’ve always been bad.”

 

Spike growled at her, and at that, all was right in Buffy’s world. “That’s my line.”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

* * *

 

“Love, what’re we doing?”

 

Buffy raised both eyebrows at him and continued pushing the small metal basket, breezing past him and down the baking aisle in the small grocery store. She searched the items until her eyes lit on her prize. “Ah ha!” Bending over to grab the bag from the bottom shelf, she held it up and said, “Because we’re making hot chocolate and cinnamon toast.”

 

“Ah. Why?” His blue eyes were bright with life at her renewed happiness.

 

She set her jaw and willed him to protest. “Because it’s my birthday.”

 

He grinned, and Buffy caught sight of the dimple. “Okay.” He drawled out the word in a way that Buffy knew he was doubtful.

 

Buffy went back to her mission. “Follow me.” She hoped it would be one of many times he’d follow her in the future.

 

She zigged and zagged up and down aisles, searching for what she hoped might still be there. Just when she was giving up the goose, she spied her target wedged in a small section just next to the reds and pinks of the almost untouched Valentine’s Day stock. Smiling, she breezed up to the section and began pushing aside the stuffed teddy bears and pigs to get to the red and the green stuff.

 

“Pet?”

 

“Mmhmm?” she murmured as she picked up a jumbo box of fifty ornaments, the corner crushed and three or four of the gold and silver balls cracked. They were eighty percent off. Perfect. She dumped it in the basket.

 

“Why’re you buying Christmas decorations? Christmas was last month.”

 

She snagged a small package of silver tinsel, a ragged roll of fake berries, and a Mariah Carey CD that looked like a dog had mangled it. She glanced at him as she tossed the treasures in with the food and ornaments. “Because I didn’t get to celebrate Christmas. We were in Australia for the holiday, wrangling a Slayer who was trying to her best to evade us.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Not gallivanting. There was no gallivanting,” she said in a serious tone. There’d been demons and a witch and an almost apocalypse. God knows, rounding up Slayers was turning out to be a much bigger task than she bargained for, and not all the girls were glad to have super strength or to be catnip for demons and vampires. 

 

Spike picked up the box of ornaments. “So, I’m assuming you have a tree of some sort to hang these on?”

 

Buffy grinned. “I do. It’s my dad’s. I swiped it while he was at work. Well, technically, it’s ours. He kept it as part of the divorce, but Mom, Dawn, and I have partial custody, which I’ve never taken him up on.”

 

Spike smirked. “Until now.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Good on you.” His eyes sparkled. At least, he was still entertained by her.

 

Buffy returned to rooting around in the hodgepodge of leftover, unwanted Christmas decorations. Peering into the dark pit, her eye caught sight of something that made her heart skip a beat. Pulling it out, she nonchalantly tossed it in the basket, hoping Spike wouldn’t comment, so of course, he did.

 

“What’s this now?” He plucked the sprig of greenery with white berries out of the cart where it had landed next to the jug of milk.

 

Buffy crossed her arms. “You know very well what that is.”

 

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Yeah. A parasite, feeding off its own kind.”

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “A plastic one. This one isn’t going to feed off anything.”

 

“Why’re you buying it?”

 

Because she wanted more than anything to kiss Spike, and the way they left things, they didn’t say hello with a kiss. In fact, she wanted more than hellos every now and again. She wanted all the days and all the nights. She just didn’t know how to get there. She thought the serendipitous mistletoe might help. Instead of saying this, she found herself protecting her heart once more. “It’s a decoration, Spike. Always had one growing up.”

 

“Why didn’t you knick your dad’s?”

 

She frowned and pulled the basket around. “I couldn’t very well make out with everything. I may have super strength, but my arms are only so big. Besides, I couldn’t find the decorations.” An ache took hold in her chest, and she pushed toward the checkout counter. When Spike didn’t follow her, she glanced back over her shoulder. He was staring at the wall of Valentine’s Day hearts. “You coming?”

 

His expression inscrutable, he shoved his hands in his duster pockets. “Yeah, love, I am.”

 

* * *

 

Buffy held a finger to her lips as she fumbled in her purse with the other hand for the hotel room keycard.

 

Carrying the bags like a gentleman, Spike hung back but went along with Buffy’s silent instruction. He gave her a quizzical look and then listened. Buffy knew as soon as he realized there was another heartbeat in their room. “Who?”

 

The lock made a whirring sound, and Buffy slowly swung down the handle and pushed open the door. The lovely glow of the tree and the warmth of central heating beckoned Buffy through the small living room with the tiny kitchenette and into the bedroom. The bags rustled softly behind her as Spike caught the door. She appreciated that he could enter without an invite. Made things between them seem normal for just a moment.

 

Buffy stopped and watched her sister deep in dreams, her chest slowly rising and falling and her face lost in a pile of pillows. She loved Dawn so much she couldn’t imagine life without her. Her sister. Her only blood family left that counted. She’d do anything to protect her, and she knew the man behind her would, too.

 

Spike drew up beside her, his hands in his pockets again, having left the packages in the other room. His voice was barely perceptible. “Pet, why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Buffy matched his volume. “Tell you what? That I brought Dawn with me? I figured if I couldn’t convince you’re wanted, she would.”

 

“She wasn’t exactly singing my praises last year or so. For good reason.”

 

“She’s a teenager. She was hurting, and we were all distracted by many other things. She loves you.” Buffy knew this because when she’d told Dawn that Spike was gone and how he’d died, she’d sobbed until she was gasping for breath on the bus, heedless of who saw her or what they thought of her. Insecurities dissolved with the raw grief.

 

“She – ” Spike didn’t finish his thought.

 

“She never stopped.” Buffy noticed that Spike’s face had the same disbelief she saw in those final days in Sunnydale. This gave her the courage to say, “I never stopped.” Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she slipped her hand in the one he’d freed from containment. “Forgiveness is more than yours for the taking. No need to keep proving that you’re worthy. Or believing that you’re not.” She stopped short of saying how much she needed and wanted him because she was still unsure. His signals weren’t as clear as they used to be when he unabashedly and almost desperately declared his feelings for her all those years ago. Part of Buffy wished that she could erase the moments when she reacted to his declarations of love with disgust and indignation. But then, what if those moments led to where they were now, standing here in this room together?

 

This time, Spike clasped her hand firmly in his, and he made clear, unwavering eye contact with her. God, was it still there? Did he still love her? She was terrified that he didn’t and that he did all at once, but before she could make a decision, his soft lips were on hers, tender and gentle. She heard herself inhale sharply and then settle into the kiss the way she’d settled against his body in the alley. The lightness of the affection slowly built until she could feel his hunger for more, and she matched his energy, moving more quickly and desperately until she was lost in only the sensation of the most sensitive part of her body with his. Her body was aflame with need when he pulled back. She felt briefly dizzy with disappointment until he drew her body close to his under the coat. She again relished the solidness of him in her arms, and she could tell how much he wanted her through their clothes. She sighed with happiness.

 

Still, insecurity stood up and protested this joy. “I still don’t know if you want me.”

 

Spike took her by the shoulders and searched her eyes. Then, he set his jaw, took her by the hand and led her into the adjoining room. He flicked on a lamp and quietly shut the door behind him, sloughing off his coat and laying it over the back of one of the kitchenette chairs.

 

Buffy stood off to one side, unsure what to do with her hands. She felt naked and exposed as she watched him go to the grocery bags he’d piled on the sofa. He rummaged around in a couple before he found what he was looking for, pulling out a red heart-shaped box. Standing before her, he placed the box reverently in her outstretched hands. She accepted it in confusion.

 

“Did you – ?”

 

“Buffy, you crazy bint, you have all of my heart. Have for as long as I’ve known you, even if I didn’t know it at first.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger on her cheek. “I don’t know how you could’ve forgotten. It’s only been,” he rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if calculating, “eight months or so.”

 

Buffy couldn’t help it. The chocolates were just so. . . Spike. She giggled.

 

Hurt flashed over his face. “S’not funny.”

 

Buffy crushed him in a hug, smashing the box of chocolates between them. “It’s not funny.” She tilted her head back to gaze at him, letting all her love shine in her eyes. “I love you. I want you in my life if you’ll have me.”

 

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you, too. You want me in your life?”

 

“Without a doubt,” she assured him.

 

He smiled that genuine smile again. “Good.”

 

Buffy suddenly remembered her plans. “We should decorate the tree before Dawn wakes up.”

 

“Very quietly. Not sure why you bought the CD, pet.”

 

“That’s for tomorrow when we wake her up with carols, hot chocolate, and cinnamon toast.”

 

Spike nodded as if in agreement about a very serious mission. “Got it.”

 

With the same teamwork that they used to fight vampires and demons and train potential Slayers, Buffy and Spike set to work making the tree come to life. Spike even hung the mistletoe in the doorway between the two rooms. After they finished, they stood back and observed the finished product. Miraculously, Dawn slept through the whole thing.

 

“Looks right nice,” Spike whispered, his arms crossed and head tilted in thought. “Despite the half-tinsel, half-berry look.”

 

“We did good.” Buffy yawned and then said, “We’re just missing one thing. Wait here.”

 

She hurried into the other room before he could respond, scooped up the forgotten thing, and rejoined Spike. Without looking at him, she nestled the banged-up box of chocolates among the tree branches. She smiled at her handiwork.

 

“Now, it’s perfect.” She gazed up at the vampire lovingly. Then, she yawned again – a bigger yawn. “Think it’s time for sleep. There’s a pull-out bed in the sofa. Benefit of having a suite. Care to join me?” She said all this in a rush, so Spike would know that’s what she wanted, what she hoped for.

 

Spike scooped up her hand. “Is that a question, pet?”

 

She nodded solemnly. “It is.”

 

“I love you,” he simply said. “Let’s get you tucked in.”

 

She smiled. “Love you.”

 

Within minutes, they were curled up on the surprisingly comfortable sofa bed. Spike spooned Buffy, and she happily nestled up against him, eyes already drooping.

 

Just before dreams took hold, her brain raised a small hand. “Hey,” she whispered. “You asleep?”

 

“Yeah, pet, I am,” he said with only a trace of irony. “What’s up?”

 

“I didn’t see you pay for that box of chocolates. Did you - ?”

 

Spike ran his hand over her belly, and she shivered. “Spent my last bit of cash on the drink you didn’t touch.”

 

“Oh.” She was amused but didn’t tell him. “Love it even more then.”

 

Sleep almost had hold of her again when Spike spoke, “Buffy?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Happy birthday, love.”

 

“Best birthday ever.”

 

* * *

 

“Why is there a heart in the middle of the Christmas tree?” Dawn asked loudly, jostling Buffy back into consciousness. Then, Dawn turned on a light and must have seen Spike because her next words were, “Holy Jesus! What’re. . . Spike?”

 

Buffy felt Spike lift his head from where they were still cuddled together. “Hey there, Bit.” He gave her a little salute.

 

Squinting in the sudden luminance, Buffy managed, “Merry Christmas.”

 

“B-but you’re dead,” Dawn stammered.

 

Spike sat up. “Well, still that but no longer extra crispy.”

 

Emulating Spike’s stance, Buffy propped up on her elbows and watched her sister’s emotions play out all over her face. There was the same hesitance, fear, sadness, and hope. She wondered if that’s how she looked when she finally found Spike last night.

Dawn flung herself onto the bed and hugged them both. Immediately, she sat back on her heels. “You’re staying with us, right?”

 

“If you’ll have me.”

 

Dawn donned her serious face. “If you’re going to be with my sister, we need to have a serious talk. I mean, I’m assuming you’re going to be with my sister, right?”

 

“If she’ll continue to have me.” He didn’t waver. “And if you’ll have me,” he repeated.

 

Dawn narrowed her eyes. “Depends.”

 

“On what, Nibblet?”

 

“On how well today goes.”

 

“What’s so special about today?” Buffy and Dawn both gave him a patented Summers stare. “I mean, besides it being Buffy’s birthday.”

 

“And Christmas,” Dawn added.

“And Christmas,” he agreed.

 

Dawn crossed her arms and lifted both eyebrows at him. “Well, I know you can do hot chocolate and cinnamon toast easy, but can you stand shopping with us if we can get you to the mall without burning up again?”

 

Spike groaned. “I can try. Does this involve trying on clothes?”

 

“Maybe,” Buffy said with amusement.

 

“Definitely,” Dawn corrected. “And not just us. You.”

 

Spike rolled his eyes, but Buffy could tell he was enjoying every minute of it because the corner of his mouth quirked up, and his blue eyes were shining. “All right.”

 

“You need something besides a moldy old jacket and black t-shirts.”

 

Spike swung his legs over the side of the bed. “My jacket’s not moldy. My beer’s not moldy. And black’s my signature color.”

 

Dawn made a confused face. “Beer? What’re you talking about?”

 

Spike stuck his finger out, ignoring her question. “Old, yes. Moldy, no.”

 

Buffy watched her sister and her vampire as they continued to banter back and forth. These two people were her family. As they got out of bed and began to cook breakfast, Buffy’s heart swelled with happiness, and she decided right then and there that she’d never had a better Christmas. . . or birthday.

 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Almost forgot! Thanks to all the wonderful ladies (Carrie Ann, GillO, Fraggleshrew, and Queenfish) in the Elysian Fields shoutbox who gave me ideas for British ales and lagers(?). I still don't know much about them, but it really helped me choose the perfect beer for Spike in the story!


End file.
